Don’t Go Gentle Into That Good Expressway by Luis J. Rodriguez
They say people in New York City are cold, that they enter like the blackness of night and rip into you when you shine with the weakness of a smile. They say, you can’t smile in New York City because it could be a death warrant. A kind word is a likely ticket to a back-street mugging. Nobody
cares in New York City.
But I don’t know…the city seemed refreshing to me. People were upfront. They yelled, they laughed, they had no qualms about your worth. I could walk these streets and face anyone and be crazier that the craziest dude and ride the subways looking untouchable and nobody knew whether to talk to me or walk away. In most cities madness seethes below the skin. In New York City, it storms through the eyes.
And, at least once, New York City showed me some heart. I had entered a packed expressway when a bobtail truck in front of me rammed into a stalled car.
Fire then flared out of the truck’s hood. The truck driver dove out the side window onto the asphalt and struck his head. As he lay unconscious, we all got out of our cars; somebody ran to an emergency phone to summon help. The rest of us rushed over to the driver. We looked at each other and figured if we didn’t move him, the truck could explode and break up over his body. But to move him meant the risk of getting sued, A New Yorker reasoned next to me. In the seconds that followed, we decided that everyone there would take a hold of the guy. Somebody got an arm, another a leg… one guy just placed a hand on the dude’s chest.
We carried the truck driver to the side of the road. An ambulance finally came. We continued to stand by the dude until they laid him on a stretcher and the truck in the distance burst into a blaze.
Blue Book Unit 1
Don’t Go Gentle Into That Good Expressway
by Luis J. Rodriguez
They say people in New York City are cold,
that they enter like the blackness of night
and rip into you when you shine with the
weakness of a smile. They say, you can’t smile
in New York City because it could be
a death warrant. A kind word is a likely
ticket to a back-street mugging. Nobody
cares in New York City.
But I don’t know…the city seemed refreshing
to me. People were upfront. They yelled,
they laughed, they had no qualms about your worth.
I could walk these streets and face anyone and be
crazier that the craziest dude
and ride the subways looking untouchable
and nobody knew whether to talk to me
or walk away. In most cities
madness seethes below the skin.
In New York City, it storms through the eyes.
And, at least once, New York City
showed me some heart.
I had entered a packed expressway when a bobtail
truck in front of me rammed into a stalled car.
Fire then flared out of the truck’s hood.
The truck driver dove out the side window
onto the asphalt and struck his head.
As he lay unconscious, we all got out
of our cars; somebody ran to an emergency phone
to summon help.
The rest of us rushed over to the driver.
We looked at each other and figured if we
didn’t move him, the truck could explode
and break up over his body. But to move him
meant the risk of getting sued,
A New Yorker reasoned next to me.
In the seconds that followed,
we decided that everyone there
would take a hold of the guy.
Somebody got an arm, another a leg…
one guy just placed a hand on the dude’s chest.
We carried the truck driver to the side
of the road. An ambulance finally came.
We continued to stand by the dude
until they laid him on a stretcher
and the truck in the distance
burst into a blaze.